Rogues
by Uboa
Summary: All along the watchtower, princes kept their view. While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too. Outside in the distance, a wildcat did growl. Two riders were approaching, and the wind began to howl.
1. Hearts and Minds

_Note: Best read at 3/4 or 1/2 Story Width_

* * *

 **Rogues**

 _Chapter 1: Hearts and Minds_

* * *

Have you heard?

The rumors about the red-eyed monster and the blue-eyed demon?

They say they're a pair of Apostles, chasing after the wicked to deliver punishment. Slavers, smugglers, bandits, all sorts of dirty and immoral men, they are the prey. Entire marauder camps are slain to the last man, their slaves freed and their treasures barely touched. The leaders are usually found dead or beyond saving, and their bodies tortured and broken like the slaves they captured, their minds shattered. Whether they do this as a testament to their prowess, a warning to others, or even both, no one truly knows. An infamous brigand was found with his hand speared to a tree, gibbering and sobbing like a child. All he could talk about were red eyes and blue eyes.

Does it not send a shiver down your spine?

Who are they, really? Of course, no one knows. Perhaps they are the collective anger and indignation of all those enslaved by the Empire and other kingdoms, given form, flesh, and fury to claim retribution. Some think they were born from the blood and regrets of the thousands killed at Alnus, when the armies were beaten back by those men in green. Others claim they serve the same gods as those men in green. Whatever they are, they came after the Gate opened, like vicious hunting dogs unleashed from their cages.

No. Not even like hunting dogs. They are wolves.

Moving swiftly yet silent like the wind, they've become ghosts that haunt wicked men. You will never see them coming until it is too late. And when you do, you had best pray you are not their quarry. At least then, your death with be quick. Otherwise, you may lose everything before your life.

They sound like the monsters our mothers warned us about for misbehaving, true; bad children are eaten by witches, stolen away by ogres, or have their eyes plucked out by evil fairies. Now those terrible things are coming for us! Watch your words and especially watch your actions. You will never know where the red-eye monster stalks, or if the blue-eyed demon is watching you. A good man has nothing to fear, but a sinful one should keep an eye on his back.

There's no tracking them. They're not like the Apostle Rory Mercury, who follows war and battles. These monsters just show up with death in their wake, following the wicked and the depraved.

They could be walking among us, our judges and executioners.

They could be here, weighing our sins.

They could even be right behind you, waiting for you to fall.

You laugh? Do you really think such rumors spread that easily? Time eventually reveals lies and exaggerations, but these kind of whispers get around because more than one person saw the same thing.

Fine. Don't believe me if you wish.

It won't save you when they come for you.

* * *

"That's the rumor going around, sir."

"Hmm. _Aka-oni_ and _Ao-oni_? Odd that they'd have a story similar to our red and blue demons."

Koda Village was small but lively, a place to live and raise a family rather than devote one's life to trade. Children and wives looked on, curious, as strange men and women clad entirely in odd green clothing and riding horseless carriages came into town. Thankfully, they were peaceful, if not completely able to communicate, but that was the village chief's problem.

Being one of the first settlements they encountered, the members of Japan's Ground Defense Force Third Recon Team approached the populace with open, friendly hands. The people here were not connected to the Imperial forces that had attacked their nation—at least, not directly—and could likely provide some vital information, such as local events, rumors, and more importantly: where to go next. Communication was, as expected, spotty, but each member of the team learned something in their chats. As they regrouped, they shared what they learned. Curious among the small talk were rumors of demons and monsters.

"Maybe that's how it is around here? Without cameras, there's no way of proving things without direct contact. Even then, people can exaggerate stories." Private Kurata watched with half-lidded eyes. Only humans around here; not a single catgirl, dragongirl, anything-girl anywhere!

"Could just be their own boogiemen. Japan only has eight million of them." Another man, Private Tozu, adjusted his glasses. "And we've plenty of scary movies and games showing them."

The oldest man among them, Sergeant Major Kuwahara, interrupted. "You're thinking _kannazuki_ , kid. Eight million gods, not monsters. But you may be right. Slavery's a nasty thing, so maybe these stories are spread to make them think twice?"

"Or it may be actual monsters. I mean, there were corpses of ogre-like things at Ginza and Alnus Hill, right?" Kurata asked, leaning against his vehicle's steering wheel. "They got bandits and stuff like that, too."

"Maybe it's just coincidence."

"A lot of maybes and not enough certainties. I doubt HQ would want to know about the could-be and might-be around here, but if that red and blue thing pops up frequently we should take note of it."

"Heads up. There's someone on horseback approaching, and he doesn't look all too happy."

Leaning against his heavy machine gun's turret, the private frowned. Only seconds to decide: was this hostile or something else? Open fire, or let them pass? Apart from rifle marksmanship, his weapon had the longest range. His hand hovered over the fifty-cal's charging handle.

"Keep calm but keep an eye on him, Katsumoto," Kuwakara cut in, old steely eyes tracking the rider and beast. "He's alone on a light horse, so he's probably not after us."

Katsumoto's hand left the charging handle, but he refused to relax. "Understood, Sergeant Major."

"Rest of you, keep out of his way. He's in hell of a hurry."

They watched, with some relief, as the rider sped by them without so much as a glance.

"Wonder what's that all about?"

"...Did anyone notice that guy had _pointy ears_?"

Kurata perked up.

Inside, the town, two JSDF soldiers spoke to a shorter, older man with a bowler hat; the village elder. With the same broken words as the rest of the troops, they tried to keep a solid conversation, but both sides knew that there was much lost in translation. Their conversation was interrupted, however, by the sudden arrival of a large beast and its rider. The horse gave a discontent whinny as it came to an abrupt stop, the rider leaping off and approaching the village elder. Words and greetings were passed, but the frown that marred the elder's face did little to supplicate the team. Whatever was said was not good news. A final few words passed between the Japanese and elder, the former nodding in thanks as he stepped away. As if spurned by that, the village in its entirety exploded in fervor of anxious movement.

Horses were roused from their stalls, carts drawn up and sacks of goods thrown about. The Japanese recon team watched as the sleepy town transformed into bustling, if a somewhat panicked, chaos.

"What's going on, Lieutenant?" Kuwahara greeted their returning leader.

"Damned if I know," Lieutenant Itami Youji gave an exaggerated shrug as he approached. "They spoke way too fast for me to keep up, but there's something about fire that's got them all spooked. He couldn't talk anymore after that. I don't know if it'll affect us but we should be careful. In any case, they're too busy to deal with us now so we might as well head out. I did manage to get some directions."

Kuwahara nodded, turning to the rest of the Recon team. "Mount up!"

Behind him, a young woman frowned. "We're just going to leave them, Lieutenant?"

"Hmm, you know, maybe we should help. Maybe also confirm what's got them all panicky," Itami rubbed day old stubble. "We'll raise some flags, score some points, then let them go once things look clear."

"Glad I thought of it!" Shino Kuribayashi gave him a wide, toothy grin.

Really, kids these days.

"Sure sure, Kuribayashi. Whatever you want," Itami shrugged, turning to Kuwahara instead. "Hey, old man, let's give these folks a hand?"

"Yes, sir. Third recon! We'll be helping these people out a bit, so get moving!"

"Make up your mind, old man!" someone shouted, though without any true annoyance. The team chuckled as they dismounted, spreading themselves among the townsfolk. While they could not communicate all that well, the townsfolk understood well enough that these men and women in green were here to help.

What would have taken the entire morning was done by midday, a literal train of horse-drawn carriages filling the streets. At the convoy's head, Third Recon's three vehicles would lead once everyone was ready. Still, the line was impressively long. Virtually every family had some sort of cart, be it horse-drawn or human, with an incredible amount of belongings piled haphazardly in.

 _The language barrier's bigger than I thought..._ Itami scribbled a note. There didn't seem to be much similarity with any language from the other side of the Gate, and his attempt to put together a decent translation was interrupted with the town's scramble to pack up and leave. At least now, with everyone helping, he could do a bit more while spreading the love.

What he would do to have an actual linguist on the team instead of him and his crew trying to piece together a translation that didn't sound like some foreigner stereotype! At least then he could delegate that task too.

Snapping his notebook shut, he broke into a jog to join his crew, only to stumble when a loud burst of rifle fire shattered the air.

 _Oh fuck._

Itami snapped into a sprint, slinging his rifle around into his hands.

 ** _Oh fuck!_**

Unless under immediate threat of violence, all of Third Recon were to hold fire until ordered; the gunshots were a clarion call to the other Japanese soldiers as they scrambled over to investigate, rifles in their hands.

"What happened?!" Itami shouted as he approached, the crowd parting easily as he pushed through.

Kuwahara was still holding the smoking gun, both metaphoric and literal. No less than two meters away, a dead horse lay slumped perilously close to a fallen child and the squad's medic, Kurokawa. A private patted the old man's shoulder. "Good shot there, sarge!"

"Everything's fine, Lieutenant," the same private gestured to the horse carcass. "Looks like they loaded too much and it broke the axle. The whole thing tipped over, that child was injured and the horse started panicking. Would've crushed those two kids and Kurokawa if the Sarge didn't put it down."

Oh. Oh good. Nothing terribly wrong then. A breath of relief escaped him.

Apart from the scary noise, the crowd seemed to be staring at them in awe. Rather than the people, however, Itami's attention was soon drawn to the small girl that stared wide-eyed at the gathered soldiers. Sky blue, almost cerulean colored hair, with matching eyes and unusual choice of clothes. Compared to the rest of the town's population, this girl stood out the most in appearance alone. Was she from the town at all?

He had no more time to think about it, however, as others arrived with a stretcher for Kurokawa and the injured child.

"Alright, let's help them clear this out of the way and get this line moving again!"

Soon, they were all moving again. His troops' idle chatter was background noise to his own thoughts.

"But what if there really is a red oni and blue oni?

"Let's hope they're actually nice monsters and not the people eating kind!"

"Would they even survive against us?"

"It's like that one American film, with that Schwarzenegger guy fighting that alien. Hunter? Uh, Marauder?"

"Predator." The answer came from the driver.

"Yeah! Predator!" A short pause. "I didn't know you were into foreign films, Kurata."

"I'm a man of many interests! Besides, western films can be pretty good! Though, their animated works have a lot to be desired compared to Japan," Kurata had a smug grin, confident. "And that's an awful comparison. The human won in the end against a superior foe! There's no way we're gonna lose here!"

"Hey, remember that guy on the horse? I'm pretty sure he's an elf!"

"Oh maaan~! Are we gonna see some cute elf girls? I wanna touch their ears!"

"Elves are quick to recognize lewdness, so you might get an arrow in the knee before you even get a chance."

"Did you just— You son of a bitch."

Their chatter came and went as the caravan rolled on.

* * *

On a hillside, two men on horseback watched the Japanese roll by. At a distance, they seemed like any other rider, tattered cloaks draped over their shoulders. Yet, should one get closer, they would see articles unknown to the rest of the land. Pleated wool pants, dusty and torn in places; oxford shoes, once polished to a shine, now scuffed and dull; white dress shirts that had seen better days and striped silk ties stained with dried blood, mostly hidden under thick travelling cloaks.

"Red circle on white. Japan's _Nisshouki_ flag. Looks likes they got their response together," one announced, letting his binoculars hang. "Nice of them to help out."

"It only took them, what, a month? Two? Though it's not like we've anything to show," the other said, already bringing his horse around. "Let's go. That dragon's still nearby."

* * *

Past midday, the sun hung over them like a merciless god. What would have been a pleasant drive had transformed into a sweaty, sticky mess as the lack of wind and slow progression ate away at everyone's sanity. Progression was slowed to worse than a crawl.

Rain from days past had turned the ground into mud while also adding unwanted humidity to the air. What resulted was an outright miserable experience for everyone, even for the modern JSDF with modern engines and modern wheels. Weighed down with their lives' works, wheels sank into the mud. Those that could not be pulled out had to be abandoned, families left to walk with only what they could carry. It was a small mercy that the men in green took in some of the young, the elderly, and the injured.

Kurata, tired yet comfortable in his driver's seat, made a cursory glance into the rearview mirror. Of note on his mental headcount, he checked off the ever present shapes of Third Recon's Light Armored Vehicle and light truck, a few horses and their carts, and a huge red dragon swooping down on the caravan—

"Contact behind!" he howled, already jerking his wheel to the side. "Contact behind!"

Their mounted gunner whirled about, racking the medium machinegun as he did so, while the other occupants scrambled for something to hold onto. Despite it all, they were already too late. In a single breath, an enormous gout of flame poured onto the convoy, as if Hell itself had opened a river of fire and agony upon them.

Screams and lives cut short as entire wagons were engulfed, wood and flesh scorched to ash in an instant. The convoy broke apart as the people panicked. Horses, already exhausted from the trek, squealed and bucked with their heavy loads. They trampled people and grass alike, pulling with desperate abandon as their masters whipped their hinds.

"A goddamn dragon?!" This was the fire thing they were talking about?! Itami and his team mirrored each other as they yanked their weapons' charging handles. "Go! Go! Move it! These people are dying!"

Meat. That's all these people were. Meat to consume, raw or roasted. A mother and child turned to pulp against the dragon's sword-like teeth. Meat wasted as a wagon tipped over and crushed the dropped infant. Meat lost as it burned into inedible black carbon. Meat denied as the JSDF roared across the field, all guns blazing away.

"We of the JSDF have a history of fighting monsters!" Kuwahara shouted, pointing a defiant finger at the great beast before them. "Show that thing who's boss!"

Their bullets did no visible damage, even the venerable fifty-caliber heavy machine gun, but they served well enough to draw the dragon's attention to them. A mixed blessing, the soldiers would soon discover as the dragon reared its head back and took a deep breath. Itami knew what was coming.

"Incoming breath! Evade! Evade!"

Kurata jerked the wheel, snapping the entire vehicle to the side as a stream of liquid fire washed over where. They could feel the residual heat from the dragon breath, some of them reflexively raising their arms to protect their faces. Children screamed as their faces were bathed in hot reds and orange, gripping each other in terror as the world around them shook and jerked. Kurokawa held the smallest against her, the child burying his head as deeply into the larger woman's vest as possible.

" _HOOORRY SHEEEIT!_ Everyone, hang onto your butts!"

"I need more bullets! Tozu! Gimme one of yours!"

"How the hell did you run out so fast, Kuribayashi?!"

"I hope we level up from this encounter."

"Is this really the time?!"

Itami grit his teeth as he slapped a fresh magazine in, already two down and without anything to show for it. Shooting the dragon was like fighting a damn tank with a BB gun! For all their speed and advanced technology, something as primal as this fire dragon was proving to be insurmountable. If anything, they were just pissing it off even more! At the very least, they had the dragon's attention, but they would not last much longer.

We're not equipped to handle something like this…!

Not only that, the beast was learning. Every fire breath came closer and closer. Was it corralling them using the scorched earth?!

"Lieutenant! Look ahead!"

He heard it before he saw it. The loud thunder of hooves drowned out the noise of their engines as dozens of men and women on horseback flowed over the hill in a river of sun-kissed hair. The air around them seemed to shimmer and sparkle, short bows drawn tight before loosing a barrage of arrows. Like the SDF before them, however, their weapons bounced off adamantine hide.

"Reinforcements?"

Hostile? Negative. Their aim was the fire dragon, just like them.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

"Watch your fire! New units are allies!"

While not as fast as Third Recon's vehicles, they were far more agile, riding opposite to the SDF's position around the dragon and splitting its attention between the two of them. A single horse split off from the group, its rider gradually coming up to speed next to Itami's humvee. The rider—a startlingly beautiful blonde young woman—waved at him, shouting something he couldn't figure out.

" _Ono_! _Ono_!" He could barely hear her over the cacophony.

"What?!"

" ** _Onooo_**!" she shouted, pointing at her eyes then pointing at the beast.

Itami's head snapped around, cracking as he stared at the creature. There. He could see it. In its left eye, a small arrow, the rest of the organ dull and milky compared to the sharply reptilian orange of the right. He squeezed the broadcast button so tightly he thought he could crush the handpiece. "The eye! Aim for its eyes!"

As one, Third Recon's combined firepower focused on the dragon's head causing it to flinch back and wave its arms in futile effort. This was the opportunity he was hoping for!

"Katsumoto! Hit it with the Nissan!"

"Yes sir!"

As one of the largest men in the group, Private Wataru Katsumoto was both the LAV's turret gunner and the one in charge of the team's anti-tank weapon. Hefting the heavy tube up, he grinned as he sighted his target.

"Oh right," he paused, looking over his shoulder. "Back blast clear…"

"God damn it just **_shoot already_**!"

He squeezed the trigger just as the LAV hit a bump, jostling his aim at the last second and sending the rocket veering off course. A decisive blow lost.

"You fuckin' missed!?"

"This is it. We are going to die."

"Shut up and get me the second warhead! Hurry!"

The order was almost futile, the warhead being safely tucked away and sealed inside a solid box that would waste precious seconds to open. In that time, there was so much the dragon could do to ruin everything.

Before they could do so, a flicker of light and wind drew their attention away. Distant, the Japanese soldiers could hear distant chanting coming from the cavalry.

Although it appeared that the rocket would miss, it shook and tumbled as the strange light enveloped it. The JSDF watched in awe as the warhead flew as if it were a bird, twisting midair unnatural to its design, and righting itself in a straight shot to the dragon. Stranger still, the rocket seemed to shoot forward in a burst of speed, a trail of incandescent lights following.

The dragon, however, recognized the panzerfaust rocket as something dangerous. Despite being pelted at all sides by gunfire and magick'd arrows, it heaved its massive body to the side. Yet it could not dodge the rocket completely, the warhead spearing the creature at its shoulder and erupting in a thunderous burst of flame and smoke.

It howled. Oh, did it howl. The children in Itami's vehicle all screamed in terror, tiny hands clasped over tiny ears as they desperately tried to block out that horrid sound. Even the grown men and women of the JSDF flinched at the cry. Katsumoto ground his teeth as he fumbled the second warhead onto the rocket launcher, locking it in just as the dragon's wings spread to its full width.

Its thin flesh was peppered with small holes, but it would not slow the fire dragon down as it beat its wings. The wash the wings created cleared away the smoke, revealing a ragged stump of flesh and exposed bone where its left arm used to be. First its left eye, now its left arm. Too bad they could not claim its left flank, as within seconds, it was too far for anyone to fight. The dragon had disappeared into the clouds. Third Recon rolled to a stop, its soldiers heaving a collective sigh of relief.

They had won… barely.

Kurata heaved a tired breath, leaning heavily against the wheel. "Oh man. It's over, isn't it?"

"For now, I guess…" Itami slumped against his seat, feeling equally exhausted. The blonde elf girl trotted up to them, earning a tired wave from the lieutenant. She smiled, returning the gesture. As she came closer, certain details about her became evident, and Itami jabbed an elbow into Kurata's side.

"Ow! What?! What is it?!"

Itami Youji, Lieutenant and Otaku of the Japanese Self Defense Force, wordlessly pointed at the miracle beside them. Kurata Takeo, Sergeant and Otaku of the same, gaped and rubbed his eyes. Was what he saw true? Was it…?

She was still there.

"Dude, dude! She's an elf! Her ears!" Kurata cheered, punching his commanding officer in the shoulder. "Oh my god, elves exist! This is the best day ever! You know what this means, right?"

"Heh. Ehh…"

"If elves exist, then other monster girls gotta exist! Hell yeesssss!"

They, or rather, Kurata, felt their previous exhaustion slough off, replaced by a childish glee in seeing not only an otherworldly beauty, but one that was well within their "strike zone." Or perhaps, this was just one man's interest. Itami was just laughing along.

She tilted her head, giving them a quizzical look. That only caused them to giggle and swoon even harder, falling over themselves as they giggled. Their cheer was so infectious, she could not help but laugh as well.

What silly people!

* * *

"Well shit, they survived."

"They're still a trained army, if lacking actual combat experience."

"Not an army! They're a Self Defense Force."

"They're the ninth largest military in the world, and that change in their constitution bolstered their numbers. On paper, they're SDF. Here, they're an invading army."

"Please. I was stationed in Okinawa for a while. I know what they are."

"Should we show ourselves? You can reintroduce yourself to them."

"Not yet, no. There's still a lot we need to get done first."

* * *

The sun set upon grieving mothers, broken fathers, orphans. A large grave was erected on a nearby hill, dozens of crosses marking where families and friends took their final rest. Among the tearful were twelve men and women in green, standing with folded hands and bowed heads in solemn prayer. It took all of them until now to salvage what they could, burn the rest, and bury the fallen. Once the prayers were finished, the convoy could continue on, this time without fear of attack.

Even then, there were those that were left behind. Some children, some elderly, and some too wounded to be taken along. They could not go with the people they called their neighbors anymore.

"Can't take with?" Itami had asked (oh gods it sounded awful) the village chief, to which he got a solemn shake of the head.

"I know it to be cruel, but we cannot support them with what meager supplies we have left. We are already pooling our resources just to give us strength to keep moving. I fear we do not have the luxury to go much further."

"I see…"

The village chief turned to their other companion. "Lord Hodor, could you not help these people as well?

Hodor Ray Marceau, the leader of the band of elves that came to help, stood equal to Itami's height, though his vestments and stance gave him a very regal presence. His men and women were helping the people recover alongside the men in green. He also shook his head, frowning.

"We too suffered from the flame dragon. Our home and forest is completely destroyed, leaving us homeless and seeking distant friends and family. Fortunately, we were warned by a pair of travelers about the monster, giving us precious time to evacuate. We thought it best to pay it forward and warn Koda Village and other settlements. Our homes may be but ash and cinder, but we are alive."

"We can always rebuild, but we can never bring back lost lives." The village chief bowed his head. "You have our eternal gratitude for saving those you could. It is not your fault, nor anyone else's here, that the others fell. The Flame Dragon is a force of nature, much like a dangerous storm. It was by your strengths and guile that so many of us get to continue on."

"Indeed." Hodor nodded. "If only we had such strength when the dragon came to our home, we could have celebrated a great victory instead of running away. Had it not been the two travelers' warning, I fear we would be attacked completely unaware, our entire village utterly consumed."

A grim, but accurate prediction. Even with Itami and his men's quick reaction, at least a hundred and fifty people were killed or consumed. That thought sent a shiver down Youji's back. Some people couldn't even bury their lost, the bodies melting away in that dragon's stomach.

Uuugh.

"Kind sirs, your strength and kindness will never be forgotten, and we will be sure to let everyone know of your feats. Please, find it in yourselves to help them. They've nowhere to go, and they cannot rely on us." With those last words, the village chief donned his hat and joined his caravan. The rest of Third Recon waved and shouted wellwishes to the departing people, earning confused but happy waves back. All the while, the elves watched on a few steps away.

Sergeant Major Kuwahara approached Itami, clasping his hands behind his back. "What will we do, Lieutenant?"

He referred to those left behind, still resting in Third Recon's vehicles. Kurokawa joined them, giving him an expectant look.

"Well…" He looked over to those that remained. They stared back with furrowed brows and tight, nervous frowns. _Please don't leave us_ , they begged with their eyes.

Really, there was only one choice.

"Don't mind, don't mind! We all go to Alnus together!" Itami gave them a big, toothy smile and an energetic V.

The children and others understood, even if his words were not. They cheered and returned the smile and gesture, much to the glee of Itami's team.

"Lord Itami, if I may?" Hodor approached them, along with that beautiful elf girl from before. Without her horse, the slender girl stood a little shorter than Itami. "Allow me to introduce Tuka Luna Marceau, my daughter. In the interest of cooperation, I would have her travel with you and establish relations with the Jay Ess Dee Eff, acting as both representative of our people and myself."

Well, that was no problem. What was one more person to the list of refugees?

Tuka, however, did not seem to know Hodor's intentions. She whirled about, lustrous golden hair flaring behind her. "Father? You didn't mention this!"

The older elf placed a hand on her shoulder, calming her. "My precious daughter, I must help our people find a new home to settle, but these men in green represent a new and unknown power. It may be wise to open discussions with them, or at the very least, give them a venue in which to communicate. As my daughter, you will be the representative of our people."

Tuka paused, hesitant, but she gave Hodor a serious nod.

"I understand, father," she nodded, hugging him close. "Please, be safe."

"Tuka, we survived a fire dragon! Anything else will be simple to deal with, in comparison." Hodor chuckled as he returned the hug, giving his child a clear and warm smile. "When we settle, I will come for you. Until then, let these people know of the humble pride of the high elves."

Tuka watched as her family rode off, to join her brethren. She knew her mission, granted upon her by her father and her people. She would see what these men and women in green truly were.

Hours later, they approached the holy hill. These horseless iron wagons could travel faster than her horse, she knew. After all, she had barely managed to catch up to them as they battled the dragon. Yet, they kept a comfortable speed alongside her. A polite people, she decided.

The insular lives of elves betrayed Tuka as she bore witness to the strange and new Alnus Hill. She had known this place before, a holy place for many and for that reason, it was a neutral site. No group could claim it for their own and settle it, until now. Towering grey and white structures, numerous men in green standing upon them in watchful vigil. The land bristled with strange briars, large metal crossed bars, and and the deep scars of many battles. There were signs in both common tongue and unknown characters, warning about trespassing and certain death.

So many things she never knew of, never seen before or even heard. The air was dirtier here, much like the cities she had visited briefly, but more acrid and sharp. It was faint yet dizzying.

She shivered as she saw what may have been defiance of said warning: a deep crater that was still blackened by fire. Scraps of armor and a broken sword lay aside the upturned soil, remnants of the fallen. Distantly, she could hear familiar thunder of these peoples' weapons. A heavy rumble followed, strange metal chariots with bulky tops and a long pole protruding from it ripped apart the earth as it rolled along in formation. Even stranger was another set of chariots, bright yellow in color with large claw-like arms and gouging deep holes in the earth with a mere swipe. What would have taken a group of men hours of hard labor was done in a second with a simple gesture.

Tuka would not realize it until later, but this was no mere settlement.

This was war.

* * *

 _Elsewhere, hours ago._

A half dozen men sat around a roaring fire, laughing and feasting upon ill gotten goods. A wrecked wagon was overturned nearby, a ruined man's corpse cooled against congealed blood. Closer were two other bodies, still as death and stripped completely nude. These were were not clean deaths.

"Hey, I heard Koda Village is on the run."

"Hmm, a good opportunity, don't you think? Like a herd of sheep without its dogs, just waiting for a pack of wolves to pounce."

"Do we even have enough men?"

"No problem! Plenty of stragglers from that Alnus garbage to recruit! Who wouldn't want in for some easy loot and pussy?!"

"Hmm, maybe we could even kick the local lord out, enslave the rest, then take over!" The largest man among them laughed. "From a bandit leader to a lord! That doesn't sound too bad at all! Should I knight you all then?!"

They jeered and cheered, hoisting dirty cups as they saluted their erstwhile leader. Their roar of laughter was cut short, however, as one of them staggered into the firelight.

"H-here! They're here! Oh gods, the monsters are right behind!" He took uneasy steps towards them, a hand clutching a bleeding wound tightly as he babbled.

One man grabbed onto his tunic, a lazy attempt to steady him. "Whoa, whoa! Calm down! Did you slip and fall, or something? Prick yourself on a little flower, did you?"

"I can't! They're after me! They're coming for me!"

"Who, lad? Who's coming for you?"

"The red eyed monster. The blue eyed demon. They're coming!"

Rather than look concerned, they burst into mocking laughter, slapping their legs and taking deep pulls from their wineskins. "Pah! He sounds like he's had too much drink! Did you see Rory Mercury while you were pissin' down the hill too?!"

"The poor sap cut his hand too! Look at him!"

They would not believe him, not while they revelled in drunken cheer.

He would open his mouth to speak more, only to choke as a javelin pierced the back of his throat and over the tongue. A wet gurgle was his last words.

With silent, gaping maws, they stared at their dying friend. As one, they looked to where the weapon was thrown.

Barely lit by the campfire, there approached an ominous figure clad in a thick cloak and large hood, swaying with each step. As the men squinted into the darkness, finally they could see a little clearer. Their other companions, six of them left to sift through the wagon's goods, were slumped against the rocks and unmoving. Only the stranger in the cloak was there, walking towards them with a bearded axe in hand. The fog of drink cleared in an instant, washed away by growing fury.

"Who the hell is you?!" Swords and axes were drawn. It didn't matter what this bastard said. He was going to die! "All together now! Get 'em!"

They had barely taken a step when it was among them, axe sweeping low to hook one man's leg and send him head over ass. Up the axe came and down it went, splitting another's helmet and crushing the skull underneath.

 _One._

Snake-like arms lash out, grabbing a different axe by the haft and twisting hard. The wrist could not rotate that far, and with a cry, he relinquished his weapon, only to have it returned into his head. The axe blade buried into his temple, cleaving the jawbone and left it dangling.

 _Two_

Two-handed overhead cut. He could not bring the blade down as a hand thrust itself between his arms, crushing his nose and snapping his head back. In his stunned state, he only noticed the world spinning around him before coming to a sudden halt, flat on his back and eyes open to the skies. His ribcage became his sword's new sheath.

 _Three._

The one knocked down first stumbled to his feet only to receive the a heavy fist into his temple. As he tumbled down, a second hook smashed his jaw. Groggy, punch drunk eyes failed to see the third strike that would dash his skull against jagged rock.

 _Four._

The last one took a step back, having just watched four others be caught in a chaotic storm of limbs and blades, naught a chance to strike back before they were felled. He dropped his weapon, to show his surrender. It was not enough.

A thin, almost needle-like knife. It lashed out. Stomach. Between the third and fourth rib. Side of the neck. Three holes to bleed. He collapsed like a stringless puppet.

 _Five._

And their mighty, esteemed leader, with dreams of overthrowing a young lord and taking over his land, cowered behind a rock. What could he alone do what a dozen could not? Surely, by numbers alone, they could have overwhelmed this so-called monster and ended its miserable existence. Its name rang true, a monster indeed. Six men outside the camp and five men around the fire, all dead by a single relentless creature. Slow, deliberate steps brought it closer and closer to his hiding space, as if it knew exactly where he was hiding.

As it drew closer, he could see its face.

Dear gods, its face.

Two round blood red eyes, staring at him unblinking, as if gazing into his soul and beyond. No pupils. Just a blank, almost mirror-like sheen that reflected the flickering fires. It had no mouth or nose… or perhaps, the round thing that seemed to protrude from the face was the nose. A round, grotesque mouth, open as if in eternal howl. A red-eyed monster.

A wordless warcry echoed over the dying campground, a bloodied man in gore-soaked rags and hefting a large, heavy club charging the thing with red eyes. A survivor!

It turned to face the man, bringing up a strange black object, not much bigger than his hand, and pointed it. The bandit was barely a dozen feet away when fire and thunder erupted from the thing. He choked down a scream, cowering from the terrible sound. And the bandit… just slumped forward, as if all his energy suddenly left him and allowed his body to collapse in a shameful heap before he could even get in reach.

A survivor no more.

Sucking in a breath, the remaining bandit crawled on his belly as quick as he could without kicking too much dust. Tiny rocks scraped his chest, pressed between his skin and his leather vest. His hands hurt, a nail like ripped off as he clawed into the cold dirt, but he didn't care.

Get away. Get away! Need to get away!

The campfire was behind him, dim now that they managed to put some distance between them. A dry, hacking laugh escaped him for a bit before he bit down on his tongue. Too far to ruin everything now! So close. Almost!

Almost.

Before he could get any further, a large hand clamped around his ankle and pulled.

"No! Nooooo!" He howled, clawing at the dirt like a wild, mad beast. It was to no avail, the monster's grip like a manacle crushing his ankle. Sweet escape slipped away, the light behind him growing stronger as he was dragged to the fire again. Suddenly, his ankle was free! But then he tumbled over dried bush and stone, thrown like a sack of filth towards the fire. He landed with a heavy grunt, a particularly large rock jabbing him right in the spine.

He rolled onto his belly, a desperate hand reaching out to a discarded dagger. Inches. An inch. Too far. A shoe stepped on his hand, heavy enough to stop him but not to crush the delicate bones.

He looked up, trailing up a mud-caked shoe to a dirtied brown cloak until he stared into the iridescent blue visage of the one called the blue-eyed demon. Though its face was human-like, no man had eyes that large or unnatural. Its gaze seemed to pierce right through him with the same intensity as its opposite. A dark chuckle escaped the demon's lips, mocking.

"This just isn't your lucky day." It gave him a toothy, blindingly white smile. The bloodied tip of a sword hovered near his head, a silent dare for him to move. Inhumanly strong hands gripped his shoulders, hauling him to his feet and spinning him around. The red-eyed monster had caught up and now caught him. Those same hands grabbed fistfuls of his tunic and lifted him up, armor and all. The barest tips of his toes could touch the ground. This way, he could do nothing but meet the monster's bottomless gaze.

It spoke, a terrible sound somewhere between heavy gravel and a hissing beast, guttural in its heavy words.

"You know something we seek. We will ask, and you will answer."

* * *

Notes:

Hello.

It's been a while since I've written anything, so I hope I'm not too rusty.

This is my foray into the wacky world of soldiering, politicking, and harem shenanigans. You may have noticed that things have already gone differently from canon, while other things remained the same. Fighting and wounding the fire dragon seems to be one of those "must happen" events, as it leads to other happenings and flags. And where's Rory in all this? Don't worry, she will be show up soon enough. Apostles like her are a whimsical sort, though whether or not this is a good thing is up to debate.

Anyways, I hope to see you again at the next chapter.


	2. Lost and Found

_Note: Best read at 3/4 or 1/2 story width_

* * *

 **Rogues**

Chapter 2: Lost and Found

* * *

Twenty four hours ago, she was in Ginza, ready for a day of shopping and cafes. Cutely dressed, preening at all the stares, card in hand and Starbucks in the other, she was waiting for her friends to show up. One of them was already there, while the rest were fashionably late.

Now, it didn't matter.

It didn't matter what she said. It didn't matter how much she screamed. These strange men in ancient armor with their strange words and barking, mocking laughter, cared little for her or any of the people chained to her. Nine people, strung together by rough hempen rope, stumbled over uneven ground with men on horseback pushing them along. A moment of weakness, even tripping over a rock, invited a torrent of whips and beatings. Her favorite dress was torn and she couldn't remember when she lost her shoes.

It was better to just go along than resist. They were ten in number before, but one fought back. The beatings did not stop; they could not break his spirit. At first, his rebellion was heartening, but their hope broke when one of the soldiers snapped and ran him through with a spear. The body was still there, tossed aside to rot. In the end, their lives meant nothing. Ahh, Ichiro…! Tears welled up each time she thought of him, of his bravado cut down in a mocking rage. They spat on him as he bled out, his shocked face staring at the gored hole in his belly. Her hope died with him, left on that muddy roadside.

By the time night fell, they had reached some sort of camp. A taller, better dressed man inspected them one by one before pushing them into a large covered cart. A slave cart. Iron bars lined the tiny windows, a filthy smell wafting from the door. He leered at her as his hands crawled over her body, the urge to vomit almost overwhelming. She kept it down by straining her wrists against her ropes. He pulled at her hair, forcing her mouth open and stared at her teeth, even squeezing her breasts without a care for her comfort. She was left in pain and shuddering in humiliation, taking no comfort that all the others were suffering a similar process. Nodding, the inspector waved for the next person to approach.

She heard a distant crack, like a door slamming shut down the road. A wizzing sound, a wet snap, the inspector's head jerking as if slapped. He crumpled inwards, flopping over as if his puppet strings had been cut. Everyone stared at the newfound bleeding hole in his forehead.

Two more cracks, closer now.

Bloody holes, ragged and small, punched into two men. They joined their leader in the dirt. The deaths stirred the remaining men into a frenzy, one of them knocking her over with a careless shoulder. Their words were frantic, wide eyes looking about as they scrambled to regroup. A circle of spears and shields formed with crossbows aiming between the gaps. Their slaves were a forgotten commodity now, left to panic in their bindings. The shouts died down, the hysteria calming to a quiet nervousness that left the men shuffling in their little circle.

There was more terror in silence than any battle they had taken part in. Beyond the crackle of the campfire and the soldiers' heavy breathing, there was nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary. A cricket chirped. Sand rattled as the night breeze pushed old branches about. Peace. Then it came. A rapid, staccato noise.

Staccato noise she recognized. Sounds from video games, from movies, from those American shows! Gunfire. An ironic, welcomed sound. She should have feared it; instead, she was cheered.

It was at it's loudest now, so close that she could see star-like flashes blooming for the briefest moments. With each crack, each flash, a man fell. Quieter and quieter it became, until there was only a single frightened voice left. And then, he too died. All the while, the slaves watched with mouths agape. They refused to scream or even speak, lest they draw unwanted attention. Not even a cheer passed; they cowered as two figures slipped into the camp.

Two men, their shoulders hunched over small objects in their arms. They swept over the fallen, checking each body then kicking away their weapons. She jumped as the sharp crack of rifle fire shattered the heavy peace. At last, the two approached the huddled slaves, each of them cringing away from the light shoved into their faces. They pushed through more than half of them before the taller of the two shook his head. "No one we know."

"Damn." The other's shoulders sagged, however briefly, before he nudged his head at the slaves. "Let's cut them loose, at least."

English!

Her words were difficult to spit out, dry and swollen as her tongue was. Relief mixed with exhaustion muffled her words . "A-American? You American?!"

A pair of eyes snapped over to her, wide in surprise. Some words passed between them before one slipped away. The other knelt to her level and produced a rather terrifyingly large knife.

"American, yes, but not a soldier." He spoke in a soothing baritone, the blade slicing the ropes easily. "It's just me and my buddy."

Oh gods, she did not understand any of that. She didn't know any more English beyond what token phrases she could scarcely remember from high school. "I… I…"

"I can speak Japanese too, don't worry."

Her relief was almost tangible, washing over her like rain in a desert. All her anxiety rushing out along with her breath. By the fire's light, she could see him clearly. Tall, like many foreigners, and clean shaven with brown hair. Most bizarre was the three piece suit he wore, a light blue tie tucked behind a darker blue vest, and nylon military gear over that. His weapon, a short, knobby-like thing, seemed like it came out of some anime or video game.

"Ma'am, we are getting these people out of here, but we need your help a bit more," he continued, helping her up to her feet. "Please, it's just a bit longer, then we can all rest. Do you know anyone else here?"

Yes. Yes, of course. She was already freed. Just a bit more. "Everyone… everyone here is a slave. No Japanese, but…"

The modern mind could not fathom the idea of slaves outside of history books. Even with these strangers, she could not accept any of them being sold off in chains. After all, for her and all Japanese, freedom was a right.

"I understand. My buddy's taking care of them." He nodded. "I feel they'll respond to you a bit better, since you suffered with them. What's your name, ma'am?

"Sa-" she coughed, her throat dry. "Sasaki."

A battered Nalgene bottle was pressed into her hands. The water was lukewarm, but it was the best thing she ever drank. She took huge, thirsty gulps, while the bottle threatened to spill all over her. The man's hand came up and pushed the end down with gentle force. "Slow down there. Name's D-Boy, by the way. Other guy over there is Coach. No need to choke on the water. Plenty to go around."

The man, D-Boy, waited as she sipped the water.

"I need your help, Sasaki. Do you know how many Japanese citizens they captured?"

Sasaki shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. It was all so scary and rough. Some of us, we got pulled apart. Ichiro… I saw him die. Those bastards killed him, throwing his body away. Then they took us all and…! And…!"

Fear and hate bubbled up within her. No longer bound by ropes and terror, she found it harder to fight it down. Hot, boiling, almost electric. Her chest felt tight. A pair of large hands gripped her shoulders. Not too tightly, but enough to bring her focus back to the present.

"Easy now. No one's going to hurt you anymore."

"We can go home?" she whimpered, her pleading eyes boring into his. "Please, I just want to go home…!"

Sasaki's emotional roller coaster would have another drop as D-Boy shook his head in negative.

"I'm sorry. Japan has yet to send over a response force. It's possible they don't realize that people were taken during the initial attack, so they are just licking their wounds and mounting an expeditionary force." He frowned, looking over the group again. "Until then, we lay low and keep looking for more. We keep going for our objective."

He turned back, giving her a grim look. "I won't lie to you, Sasaki. We are not here to save everyone. That's too much for us to do. Instead, we're looking for two people, a man and his daughter." He held out a dirt-smeared photo, showing a smiling older man with a cheery young girl at his side. They were happy in the picture. "Have you seen them?"

"No, I'm sorry. I might have, but…"

"Too chaotic. I get it." He nodded and slipped the photo away. "For now, we need to find a safe space or a safehouse of sorts to hide you folks until the cavalry arrives. I don't know when that'll be, but better free than in chains, yeah?"

D-Boy guided her around, moving to step around a corpse. A weapon was still clenched in its lifeless hands, a club with bands of black iron reinforcing it. She recognized the face, frozen in a rictus scream. He had killed Ichiro while the others laughed. Before she knew it, she had picked up the weapon and was bringing it up.

The club was heavy in her hands, almost awkward for her to hold, but once it was over her head its sheer weight was enough to bring down on the dead man's head. Red and pink pulp, almost black in the campfire's light, made a messy splat along with the wet crunch of broken bone. She screamed as she swung, adrenaline adding lost strength. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths, her vision tinged red as she beat the body. Smashing, cracking, the body was broken, its face mashed beyond recognition. This was vengeance for Ichiro.

"When you're feeling better, get over to that cart." D-Boy's voice was like cold water, snapping her out of her rage and back to the present. Surrounded by corpses, still.

Sasaki looked over to the cart. The freed slaves were reluctant to climb in, but they seemed to understand the slow words the other one, Coach, was saying. She let the club go. Her fury was pointless now; the soldiers were already dead. Sakaki stumbled over to D-Boy, who took her arm to support her.

"Who are they?" She asked, staring forward. "Those two you're looking for?"

D-Boy's lips curled into a flat frown. "Our client and his daughter. They were captured in Ginza. We fucked up. Simple as that."

-0-

 **August 18, 2017**

 **Koto ward, Tokyo**

 **11:10 am**

A black Mercedes SUV stood out like a monster compared to the economically-minded sedans and vans that cruised the streets. Its hulking, beast-like presence made the family van next to it seem even smaller, much to the concern to the father driving the smaller domestic. Despite his worries, the SUV would do nothing more than rumble past and overtake them, eventually turning off to a different road.

Peering through the backseat window, a young girl no older than eleven watched the traffic pass by, a goofy little smile on her face. Not ten minutes ago, her summer tutoring class was interrupted by a foreign man wearing a charcoal grey suit and red tie, stared down the instructor, then escorted her out. All the while, her classmates stared agape. She was a good girl, with high marks and a shining reputation among teachers and fellow classmates, but that did not mean she enjoyed taking summer classes when others were enjoying the summer break. This escape, however brief it would be, meant her weekend would be just a bit longer.

Then the instructor complained, huffing like a grouchy old bear as he stood up to stop her. He barely got five meters of her when someone much taller and much more scary stepped in the way. Not a word was spoken, a stern look being the only thing passing between the two. Everything would be fine, though The gentleman that came for her was her father-appointed bodyguard for the day, and of course, he had proper documentation.

A giggle threatened to escape her. The instructor was the school's regular PE teacher and a bit of a perv. He always gave the girls weird looks and stares, as well as the occasional creepy line, so there was no small bit of glee when he backed down. Seeing him cowed by the bodyguard's glare made him a minor hero among all the ladies in the class… which meant they would ask her so many questions later.

"Who was that gentleman?" they would ask. "He isn't Japanese. Where is he from?"

"Will he be coming back?"

"Is he single?"

And so on, and so on...

Kunio Miyuki disguised a groan with a cough, drawing a look from her bodyguard. She waved him off, one hand coming up to cover her mouth-and the odd S-shape her lips had adopted from the mix of amusement and dread.

"Not getting sick, are you?" her bodyguard asked. His Japanese was accented, slightly so.

She shook her head. "No, just clearing my throat. I'm okay."

"Hmm." He seemed to accept it and leaned back.

With his attention off her, Miyuki went back to watching the lively bustle of Tokyo pass by. Something was off, she could tell. Every day, they took the same route home, giving her the same views every time with subtle differences. There was nothing familiar about this road.

"This isn't the way home," she spoke out loud, turning to look at the driver. "Daisuke-san, where are we going?"

Up front, Daisuke the driver peered into his rearview. Unlike the bodyguard, he was a local man, born and raised in Japan. Smiling, he lacked the seriousness that the other man seemed to exude. He spoke far more casual in his Japanese, "You are correct, young lady. Rather than going home, your father asked us to drop you off at a different place today."

Miyuki's attention zeroed in on the driver. "Really? What for?"

"I'm told it's going to be a surprise."

"Oh." Miyuki blinked owlishly and fidgeted in place. "Is… is it a good surprise?"

She was rubbing her left thumbnail with her right thumb, a nervous tic. Outwardly, she may seem calm, but she was actually quite excited.

"I believe so." Daisuke peered over his shoulder to check the next lane. "We're heading to Ginza."

"Ginza? Really?!" she leaned forward, eyes wide and eager. It was like a switch was flipped inside her.

The child's enthusiasm and starry-eyed look was almost too much for the driver to handle. Smiling, he peered into his rearview again. "Indeed. You should ask Coach-san about it, since he'll know more."

Miyuki's inquisitive gaze now on him, the man called Coach gave the driver a mild glare that seemed to say "you traitor," to which the driver gave a light chuckle.

"Mister Coach," Miyuki spoke not in Japanese, but English. "Would you kindly explain what Mister Daisuke was discussing? Is it why my class was cut short?"

Her English was slower than her Japanese, more carefully enunciated, but quite good for a child her age. Coach gave a light sigh at question. She used English against him when she _really_ wanted something.

"Aye. As I told your teacher, there's something going on that requires your presence. But, it's a good thing, don't worry." He answered in accented English. Proper, British English, rather. Hearing him talk the first time threw her for a loop, as she had learned from an American instructor.

"Might you explain the surprise?" Miyuki leaned towards him.

Coach shrugged, keeping a bored and nonchalant look. "Well, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise anymore, now would it? Be patient. We're almost there."

"Buuu!" Miyuki puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms in a huff.

"At least you get to skip classes for the day. I can't imagine it being that more interesting."

"Mister Coach!" Miyuki's hand came out like a whip, an accusing finger leveled right at his head. "You shouldn't support truancy and delinquency! That is unbecoming of a gentleman such as you!"

Coach blinked, looking back towards the driver. Unfortunately, he seemed to be focused on the road, leaving the bodyguard to his self. Alone, he sighed again. "Aren't you supposed to be the shy type?"

"Ehehe."

Miyuki liked him, though. He never really took things too seriously.

-o-

Kunio Ogakawa was an up-and-coming name in Japan's political circles and a well-known one in its economy. The only son to a carpenter and a housewife, Ogakawa watched as his father

A man of new money, he had an invested interest in his and his family's safety and future. For the former, he hired private security. For the latter, he fidgeted in place on a busy Ginza sidewalk, between luxury and overpriced coffee.

"Do you think she'll be happy?" He asked, checking his wristwatch, a rose gold and brown leather Breguet, the seventh time in the last five minutes. His black suit was standard, but by no means common.

"Try to have a bit more confidence, sir." A foreign man next to him replied, clad in a navy blue three-piece.

"I know. I've just been so busy I fear I've neglected my relationship with her."

"And she's, what, eleven years old? Not a bratty teen yet, so plenty of time to reconnect!"

He paused, thoughtful. "You think so?"

"The fact that you're so concerned and are taking steps right now means you care. Besides, a little bird told me she's been looking for time to spend with you. What better than now? Plus, you'll probably get brownie points for pulling her out of school like that."

He'd get hell from her mother, but this would be worth it.

A familiar SUV pulled around the corner, approaching them at a relaxed speed.

"Here they come now. We good?"

Ogakawa ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair and let out a slow, calming breath. "Yes, thank you, D-Boy."

D-Boy. Age: 36. A private security contractor with the SD Company, currently assigned VIP protection duties in Tokyo. Brush cut brown hair and brown eyes, absolutely average in his navy blue suit and blue Oakleys. Some would think him the typical foreign business man, until they saw the leather holster under the worsted wool. A six foot tall American.

When the SUV came to a stop, a familiar man in a red tie stepped out the opposite side, peeking over the vehicle and calling out, "You may want to bend at the knees a bit, sir."

Ogakawa gave him a perplexed look but did as he asked, just as the door opened and a small blur shot out like cannonball. Had it not been for his braced stance, he would've been knocked flat off his feet.

"Daddy!" Miyuki cheered, all four limbs wrapping around her father. She was more barnacle than human, her cheek pressing tight against the larger man.

"Oof! I'm being attacked!" He laughed, reaching down to return the embrace.

D-Boy smiled at the sight, nodding to his colleague as he rounded the SUV. "Coach, survived another day at the school, I see."

Coach. Age 37. Also a private security contractor with the SD Company on the same contract as D-Boy. Crew cut black hair with grey eyes, he was somewhat more intimidating than his partner on account of a seemingly permanent glare. He stood a little taller, a little broader, which made the difference between him and Miyuki all the more stark.

"Wasn't too bad." He nodded back. "Their PE teacher had to be convinced."

"Ahh, I know the guy."

Their little ceremony complete, father and daughter rejoined them. Miyuki knew both men, the two trading off positions every few weeks, but rarely were they together like this. Once she and her father got home for the evening, they were done for the day and passed off their duties to a different team (or so it was explained). There was one thing that always bothered her, and she could never find a chance to ask about it. Until now.

"So, why are you called 'Coach?' And why is he 'D-Boy?'"

"Miyuki!" Ogakawa scolded with a frown, his hands on his hips. "You mustn't be rude!"

"I-I'm sorry." She flinched inwardly, bowing her head.

"No no, it's fine. It's probably strange for her to call us by our nicknames, anyways." D-Boy smiled, kneeling down to the girl's level. "Ya see, Miyuki-chan, we do have real names, but we're just more used to hearing our nicknames. We got them a long time ago, so it just stuck."

Coach nodded, following up, "A long time ago, I was in the Royal Marines. During then, I helped lead an unofficial football team. They started calling me Coach then, and the name followed me to my next commander and, well, it just stuck." At least his nickname wasn't terribly embarrassing. Couldn't say the same for Soap.

A terribly mundane origin, which disappointed the child. Hoping for a more exciting story, she turned to D-Boy with expectant eyes.

"Err, well, D-Boy is short for Danger Boy, since I got caught a lot doing a lot of dangerous things. My squad sergeant starting calling me that, and she made sure everyone knew the dumb things I did."

"Like what?"

Miyuki's father made no mention, but the look he gave D-Boy spoke of many warnings.

He lightly ruffled her hair. "Stuff that good kids should never, ever try to replicate because growing back eyebrows takes a long time and looks really weird. Let's leave it at that. I think you'd look pretty strange with no eyebrows, Miyuki."

"Ugh! No! You stay away from my eyebrows!" Her hands snapped up to protect them, hopping away from the American.

"The greatest enemy is to a soldier is boredom. Bad things happen when there's nothing to do." D-Boy nodded, sharing a terrible secret among them. Time for a topic change! "Anyhow, it's almost noon, so why not get some lunch?"

"Yes, an excellent suggestion!" Ogakawa nodded, swooping down to capture an suspecting Miyuki. "Come, my daughter! Let us feast!"

"Daaad! Stop it!" Miyuki whined without effort. She gave a token struggle against her father's bearhug, smiling all the way.

There was a nice bistro nearby with the businessman's name in the reservation, and the weather was nice enough to walk there, despite the heat. Besides, there was some catching up to do between Miyuki and Ogakawa, and with the whole day available to them, they were in no hurry. As they crossed a road, a curious sight unfolded nearby.

"Hey, Coach, you seeing this?" D-Boy came over the radio; quiet, so as to not alert their client. "To your right, down the street."

Coach turned to look and… he blinked. "Wot the hell…?"

Something shimmered not too far, seemingly ignored or just invisible to others closer to it. No, some noticed but gave it no concern, brushing it off as some illusion or something else. Whatever it was, it was massive, easily reaching the fourth floor of the building next to it and as wide as the entire road. There was a definite shape yet it flickered like a distant mirage, as if it were hazy glass.

Then it changed.

Crystalline sparkles and glimmer transformed into weathered stone, the mirage becoming a sort of arch with a gaping black maw in its center. From it, howling beasts and screeching flying creatures spewed forth. An earth-shaking rumble of thousands of feet stomping asphalt filled the bustling street. Businessmen and tourists alike gave them a cursory glance, some even pausing to take a photo. A movie, perhaps, or some elaborate fantasy game promotion.

A mounted dragon-like thing swooped down, much to the people's amazement, and snapped a woman in half with its jaws. Its rider, an armored man with wing-like adornments on his back, thrust a heavy spear into balding man's chest.

The screaming began.

"We are leaving." Coach said as calmly as he could, pushing the father and daughter along as he kept an eye behind them. They were far too close. His hand reached into his jacket, tugging on a familiar polymer frame

"What's going on?" Ogakawa asked, his previous cheer drained away into worry.

"I've no clue, but I just saw very unfriendly dragon-mounted cavalry. If that's some cinema production going on, then they sure as hell told no one about it."

"Daddy?"

Behind them, the chaos grew in crescendo. Fantasy creatures and armored men crashed against the fleeing Japanese like a tsunami, a wave of pikes and axes that tore into unarmed civilians. Miyuki, in her childish curiosity, turned her head to look, but her father stopped her.

"Eyes forward, sweetie. We'll go somewhere else for lunch."

"Dad, what's going on?"

"Nothing to worry about. Even if it gets a little scary, just keep going forward."

"Daisuke, this is D-Boy. There is some fucked up shit going on in Ginza and we need pick up right the fuck now." Radio etiquette be damned. He didn't wait for a reply as he reached for his own holster.

People were dashing past them now, heedless of anything in their way. They pushed and shoved, shouting for others to get out of their way. Coach, taking up the rear, served as both rearguard and bodyblock for anything coming from behind.

"Think we can hide out somewhere?" He asked, turning to see his partner already trying.

"Open up, damn you!" D-Boy knocked on heavy glass with his pistol, glaring at the cowering people inside. He had half a mind to smash it down, but that would just expose everyone to danger. "Fuck. Let's keeping moving!"

"Should we go towards the American embassy? Or the Imperial Palace?" Ogakawa was struggling to keep calm. If it was just him,

"Might not be a bad idea."

The American shook his head as he kept going forward. "Not the embassy. Marines there would be too busy locking the place down and they probably wouldn't let foreign nationals in. Imperial Palace might be good. A lot of people there, and that place is built for a siege."

Coach was about to respond with something literally choked the air out of him.

"GRRK—"

Black iron clamped around his neck, prongs digging into his flesh as it pulled him backwards. Coach's free hand went up instinctively, uselessly. Ogakawa turned around by instinct only to see his second bodyguard pulled away. In that moment, he too was caught in a similar vice.

D-Boy whirled about, bringing his pistol up. "Let 'em go!"

In that moment of focus, he failed to notice the girl dart forward in a futile attempt to save her father.

"Miyuki, no!" D-Boy yelled, reaching for her. His fingertips just touched the hem of her dress before he was cut off, an armored man with a sword charged him. "Fuck! Outta my way!"

His pistol barked twice-three times, the heavy copper-plated slugs gouging deep holes as they bloomed within the flesh and tore muscle and fat into goo. The encounter was a mere second, yet it was enough for Miyuki to be snatched away by a rider, the child's screams joining the chaos.

"God damn it!" D-Boy shouted, pausing to aim as careful as possible. No good. His target bounced around too much on horseback, and the risk of hitting the child was too great. Another armored horse entered his peripheral vision, forcing him to dive to the side. A saber wiffed where his neck would have been.

He landed right on top of a discarded spear, feeling the wrought iron dig into him and incite a pained growl as he rolled off it. The cavalryman laughed, spinning his saber and trotting his horse around. The American brought his pistol up, no longer restrained by an innocent in the way. Yet, he could not shoot, as the horse reared up with a loud whinny that obscured its rider. Forty-caliber rounds would not be instantly lethal to the beast. It charged again, forcing D-Boy to repeat his dive. He landed with grunt, skidding on pavement to a stop and drawing a bead on the rider's back. The weapon fired off two shots, the first bullet going wide while the second pinged off the rider's ornate helmet. With his helmet ajar, the moment's pause to readjust was plenty for D-Boy to leap into action, snatching up the spear and cocking his arm back.

"Eat shit you fuck!"

It flew well and it flew deadly, a graceful arc from hand to target as it pierced the cavalryman's throat. He died with a gurgle and slumped to the side. Still angry and high on adrenaline, D-Boy stomped up to the body and pulled it off its perch. There was no small amount of satisfaction hearing the crunch of bone against asphalt, though as a dead body, it would no longer feel pain.

"Shit. Fuck. Fucking-fuck!" the American spat on the corpse. "Fuck you, Maximus. Fucking… aggghh." That was gonna bruise. Hell, his entire back was probably going to be tender for a bit. His knee was still aching from the fall too. Wiping his mouth with a dirtied hand, he took stock of his situation.

He was alone. That was good and bad. Good in that he was no longer at risk; bad in that his client and his daughter were gone. It was a brief moment of peace, a respite amidst a sea of madness. A handful of dead bodies around him, their horses loose. Actually, he could probably take one.

 _Might not be a bad idea._

She was a nimble-looking bay horse. The horse's tack was unimpressive, almost bare bones. Leather reins, a simple saddle, and no saddlebags. Nothing identifiable, but that was likely on purpose. Still, a healthy-looking specimen. Feeling industrious, D-Boy caught the flailing reins.

"Easy, girl. I ain't gonna hurt ya." He murmured as he pulled the reins to the side, moving along with its head. The horse whinnied, snorting as initially fought against the reins. Muscle memory and training kicked in, however, the familiar movements serving to calm the creature.

"There you go. Good girl." D-Boy patted the horse's neck. "Ain't you a pretty thing? Heh, don't let Saeko know I said that, though. She'd be pretty pissed."

He heard the canter of iron horseshoes on asphalt. The tempo was too slow to be aggressive, an almost lazy clacking that he turned to face. Sure enough, upon a liver chestnut horse, was a familiar British man.

"Oh good. You're still alive." D-Boy gave him a dry smile. He was only mildly concerned for his partner. They had been through too much already to imagine being taken out by a guy on horseback. No doubt it was the same the other way around. Seeing him now, riding the horse, he seemed to have the same idea.

Coach rubbed his raw neck as he came to a stop. "A bit worse for wear. Nothing I couldn't handle."

He was missing his coat, leaving him with a rumpled dress shirt, dirtied vest and muddied tie. Brown leather crossed his chest and wrapped around his shoulders, evidence that his personal weapon was on him.

"They didn't take you?"

"I was pulled to a different area. By the time I got loose, it was already too late. I figured we regroup first."

"Did you see where they took them?"

He glanced towards the Ginza road where the Gate had appeared. "Back through that… portal. Those were mancatchers, not spears. I think they're grabbing people to take to their side."

A low, heavy carhorn caught their attention. Standing out from the sea of abandoned cars was the massive Mercedes, Daisuke still behind the wheel. D-Boy jogged up to the vehicle, followed by Coach once he dismounted.

"Took your fucking time!" D-Boy scowled, hands raised in the air in frustration.

"Roads were completely blocked with people and abandoned cars!" Daisuke sputtered back, looking about with incredulous eyes. "What the hell is going on?!"

"An invasion, it looks like." Coach's eyes darted to the trunk. "Is our stuff in the back?"

"Yes. I picked up D-Boy's stuff after I dropped you off." At his nod, Coach opened the trunk and retrieved a pair of large duffel bags. He slung one across his chest and tossed the other one to his partner before he went back to his horse. The beast barely flinched at the added weight. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Daisuke, stay safe, yeah? We've a job to do." D-Boy thumped the door and followed, the driver watching them with wide and bewildered eyes as they parted.

The "So, you ready to go after them?"

Coach did not give him a reply, instead reaching for his radio's PTT button. "Baseplate, Coach. Ginza is a shitshow with multiple civilian casualties. Our clients have been abducted. D-Boy and Coach are now engaging in recovery operations. Out."

In the chaos surrounding the Gate, the slaughter and screaming of civilians, and Japan's finest responding, a pair of business suit-clad horse-riders galloped into the Gate's black maw. They carried heavy bags on their back and stolen helmets on their heads, but neither the Japanese nor the invaders took notice. Soon enough, the cacophony of hooves and boots would be drowned out by the rolling thunder of helicopters and automatic gunfire.

The JSDF had arrived.

-0-

 **September 3, 2017 (approximate)**

 **Unknown location**

 **0115 Hours**

"When the hell are the JSDF gonna get here? It's been friggin' weeks!"

"You know how deployments are."

Several weeks had passed since the attack on Ginza, They were taking a short break, letting their horses rest and drink while they took stock of their remaining equipment. The afternoon sun was merciless.

"Don't give me that shit." D-Boy jabbed a finger at his colleague. "When the Twin Towers fell, we were deployed within the week. Hell, spec ops were pretty much activated the night of. We were kicking in village doors and scaring hajji's by October. You telling me Japan can't get a response together within a few weeks after a direct attack on their people and sovereign soil?"

"You Marines always do boast about being first in."

"In Afghanistan? Hell naw. The Rangers and you guys were first in, so don't give me that 'first to fight' garbage."

"It was hardly glamorous."

"It's called 'the suck' for a reason."

"Everything is the suck."

They lapsed into a somewhat comfortable silence, the only sounds being the ambient noises and the tinny grind of a handheld crank charger. Their equipment was spread out in front of Coach, scattered in order over a blanket. Two PDW-sized rifles, 5.56mm; Sig Sauer pistols, chambered in .40 S&W, their protection detail weapons;apart from other odds and ends, they only had enough ammunition between them for a couple magazines in the rifles and two and a half pistol magazines. Conservation might not even matter, as the lack of basic maintenance would lead to decreased performances. They were overeager the first few raids. A couple ration bar packs, some spare batteries for their flashlights, and a multitool for each of them. Three stun grenades, two first aid kits that were quickly growing insufficient, and a couple knives of varying usefulness: Coach had a thin Fairbairn-Sykes styled dagger while D-Boy had a larger tanto bladed ka-bar.

 _I knew I should've packed a bloody bottle of CLP._

"GYAAAAAGH! Fuck this generator bullshit!" D-Boy leapt to his feet, cocking his arm back. Rather than actually throwing it, he merely let his arm fall. "How much am I going to have to wind this thing?!"

Next to him, Coach glanced at the connected phone. "In the last ten minutes, you generated about five percent power."

"Fuck my life." D-Boy dropped back down and went back to winding the crank.

"Should've splurged for a solar charger. They're not that bad or expensive anymore." The Briton pointed at a smartphone-sized brick, tiny solar panels gleaming in the sun.

"Fuck you."

"You could have also gotten one with a built in battery, like mine. But, you had to get the cheap one, so keep on cranking."

"I hate you I hate you I haaate you!" D-Boy growled, focusing his indignation on the plastic thing in his hands. "This sun is so fucking hot too. Aaahhh! Fuck everything about this place!"

It was pointless, really, to keep their devices charged. In this land beyond the Gate, there were no GPS satellites in orbit to give them positions, no data towers and access points to allow them to communicate. At least, in D-Boy's case, it was to keep the music playing. The same damn three playlists to keep him distracted or to drown out his thoughts (the folly of relying on streams and stations). For Coach, he would say it was to take pictures and keep a record of their experiences.

"You know what the locals called this place?"

"Hmm?"

"Falmart."

"Falmart." D-Boy repeated, giving the other man a flat look. "Like, one letter away from Walmart."

Learning the local language was Coach's responsibility, a flash from his past as a linguist with the British armed forces. It was slow going at first, but regular conversation with liberated slaves helped. Reading and writing would be a whole other beast to tackle later. His small notepad would be insufficient.

"Fucking discount dungeons and dragons, that's what it is." D-Boy muttered, glaring at the kinetic charger. "What I wouldn't do for a goddamn burger. Wouldn't mind having Jenny's Deli opening a branch here, either."

The deli being a lunch spot the two frequented, though their opinions on the quality of food was

"That place is rubbish. Every time I've ordered something there, they make a mess of it."

"What? No way, you always eat it all."

"I asked for a ham sandwich and they give me a botanical garden." Coach held his hands apart in approximate size of a shoebox. "It was this fucking big and three quarters of it was rabbit food!"

"It's a good deal! Where else would you get a sandwich that big?"

"What kind of deal gives you two slices of ham and a large salad between bread?"

"Yeah, well, you might have to get used to that. Once we're out of these ration bars, we're either hunting, foraging, or bartering."

"Petty thievery works."

"...Yeah, that too."

-0-

 **September 15, 2017 (approximate)**

 **1950 hours**

Night was falling, yet the work at a mine did not seem to stop. Men in rags labored away, rotating out only when collapsing of exhaustion, then given the barest of moments to rest. With only a token set of guards on duty, it seemed easy for the slaves to rise up and revolt, but judging by the slaves' expressions, none had the will. The occasional whipcrack and shouted order broke the otherwise steady peace. Salt was the precious mineral harvested here, an important trade good that was always in demand. Or, at least, that was how it appeared.

A short distance away, they watched. The trees behind them silhouetting their figures.

"We need a gimmick." One of them spoke up, putting down his binoculars.

"Wot." The other kept watch.

"Hear me out, man." D-Boy shifted around, squinting as he tried to make out the map in what little light they had. "We need some kind of identifier, something that lets people know who we are and what we do. If there are any slaves from our world, they might recognize and call out to us."

The idea made sense, in a way.

"Not that I'm disagreeing," Coach put his binoculars down, looking to his colleague. "But we've not really much do work with, other than going full native."

Indeed, the two had already picked up other articles of clothing to replace their fraying clothes, such as a sturdy traveler's cloak and hood, simple tunics, and headwear. Blending into the populace had its uses too, and wearing British cut worsted wool suits made them stick out. At the very least, the cloaks worked wonders in hiding both their non-native clothes and their weapons.

"Something distinctive, something that sticks out when those schmucks crawl off and start spreading rumors. As it is, we're just no-name raiders."

The American plucked a worn but otherwise fine plastic frame off his plate carrier, a set of Oakley sunglasses he kept for especially bright days.

"I could wear these. Would probably spook the hell outta 'em." D-Boy opened the frame up and put them on, the polarized blue lenses barely visible in the twilight.

Coach arched a brow. "This is your idea? Sunglasses? It's the middle of the bloody night."

"Yeah, but these guys have never seen this before. Did you know? Iraqis talked shit when we were in Baghdad. Said we had x-ray vision in our sunglasses and that we were coming to rape their women." The American pushed the frame up, giving his partner a cocky grin. "What are these people going to think if they see these?"

Coach shook his head, bringing his binoculars back up. "Don't you miss your shots, then."

"You got an idea for yours?"

He replied with a thoughtful pause, mentally rummaging through his dufflebag. No sunglasses or any kind of trinket like that. There was a beret but that was weak. Maybe… ah. There was the mask he could use.

"Yeah. I've an idea. I'll put it on once we go in."

Now was not the time to strike, however. The guards were still too active, too awake. Attacking now would likely result in unwanted injuries, either to the two men, the persons they were liberating, or both. In the meantime, they would watch and wait, plotting

"You think we could make something

"What, like make salt?"

"Yes. Isn't your degree in chemistry?"

"Dude, I've only taken a few classes, and most of them are online. Goddamn chem one-oh-one was a single class that taught me to make table salt with hydrochloric acid and sodium hydroxide, and even then, I would need gallons of both."

"Then what the fuck worth is that?"

"It's a fucking intro class, dumbass. It was just to teach fucking acid base neutralization reactions, not how to cook meth. Maybe you should get a damn degree too."

"Bloody useless Yank."

"Durr I'm British and I only know how to brew tea pip pip cheerio."

"You've not an ounce of dignity in you."

"You're just hungry for some spotted dick, aren't you? It's fine, I don't judge! It's two thousand and seventeen and—"

"Oh my god stop or I am going to throw this at you."

"I mean, if it's the clotted cream you're craving, I'm sure any of those fine gentlemen over tharrggh fuck right in the temple—"

-0-

Time passed. Much to their growing frustration, neither Coach or D-Boy was any closer to their goal. The slave trade in Falmart was alive and well, despite their efforts. The rewards of other conquests fed that abhorrent engine: fresh bodies to replace those too worn out or "lame." While they could say a number of people, humans and otherwise, were thankful for their intervention, not a single one could point them towards their goal. Every day that passed meant they were getting further and further away. One night, however, the boys got lucky.

A local noble's servants were sharing a drink while they discussed a new face in their master's retinue: a slave with black hair and curious almond-shaped eyes. Certainly something to follow up on, as the servants were trailed back to their master. Liberating the slave was easy, a literal cloak and dagger operation that left a few guards incapacitated and a certain noble quite flustered. Akihiko, the now-former slave was known as, recognized Ogakawa Kunio's photo. The last he saw him was at the slave auction.

According to the noble, the slaves were brought in by a man named Holt.

Two fingers later, Holt admitted buying the slaves from Moros.

Where was Moros? Holt didn't know, but he did know one of Moros' lieutenants.

Which brought them all to that fateful campfire. Fifteen men once crowded it; fourteen lay dead or dying. The last, the supposed leader of the group, could barely keep his balance as he was hauled to his tiptoes.

"There is a man. Moros. We seek him." The Red Eyed Monster spoke, its voice like gravel and smoke. Muted, yet not without a distinct edge. The campfire light flickered off his unblinking blood-colored eyes, round and reflecting his face. "Cooperate, and you might not join your friends."

"H-h-he's n-not here. We split off a-after hearing about his plans. We wanted n-no part in it!"

"Perhaps the wisest thing you've done. Where is he now?"

"I don't know! I'm not following them anymore!"

"His little army must be marching to somewhere. Are they targeting another village?" The other one, a man with a shining blue eyes stretched across his face. The Blue Eyed Demon's gaze was like its brethren, unflinching and irridescent in its color. His voice, though not as harsh, offered no succor.

"To the east, I think! But the only thing there is Italica! It's too big with his group!"

"Then that is where we need to go."

He was released, though his legs were so weak he collapsed as soon as his feet touched the ground. Looking up, the bandit gave his captors a weak, shivering smile.

"Then, I am free to go?"

"No."

"What? B-But I—"

"There is still the price to pay for that family. There is still much due."

He shuddered, backpedalling on trembling arms and legs as the Red Eyed Monster stepped closer.

"Oh? I seem to be a little late to this encounter." A lilting, almost sing-song voice stopped him, stopped them all.

A young woman, childlike in appearance, stepped into the firelight. Were it not for the enormous halberd she wielded, they would have thought her lost or even mad.

 _What an absurd sight_. A grim reaper and valkyrie, wrapped up in a frilly black and red package, and wielding a halberd longer than she was tall. Rory Mercury, Apostle to the god of death, war, madness, and violence. Demigoddess. Oh, they knew her, if only from hushed fervent whispers at taverns and inns, and given everything else they had seen, such words could not be scoffed at. Of all the Apostles, she was among the most feared. She was death, and wheresoever she went, so did her god.

Coach, behind his Red-Eyed Monster mask, scowled. There were several things they did not want to encounter. This was one of them. D-Boy understood that as well, his hands already going for his PDW rifle. She stood opposite of them with the bandit in between.

"Late as I may be, it is a blessing that you've kept him alive. Might I have his attention?"

They looked to each other before looking to her, bowing their heads briefly in acquiescence.

"Splendid!" She clapped her hands together, giving the two a happy smile. With impossible strength for a person of her size and build, she picked up the bandit and hauled him into the darkness. The two men strained their ears to listen, picking up only bits of desperate speech and the woman's own mocking tones. It was not long until she returned, brushing off insignificant dust..

"Now then..." With slow, deliberate steps, she approached them with a deceptively innocent smile. "Forgive me for the late introductions, I am Rory Mercury, Apostle of Emroy, but judging by your reactions, I believe you already knew that. .As for you two… I think I know who you are."

She came closer still, uncomfortably so.

"I smell so much blood on you. Smoke and fire, salt and steel. The names they call you are fitting: a blue-eyed demon and a red-eyed monster, though neither demonic nor monstrous you seem. Are you not the ones that others are claiming to be Apostles?"

"Their words, not ours." D-Boy shook his head. "We are no servants of the gods."

"Ah, but you must serve someone, to be so thorough and merciless. Unless you wish to gain Emroy's favor?"

Coach knew the look in her eyes. Sheer lust, hungry for something. His mask hid his grimace. "We do not seek favors, Apostle. What is it for that you approach us?"

"I followed the scent of death, and much to my pleasure, I see here small festival to Emroy. Though you may not have done so expressly for my god, allow me to express my gratitude for this offering." She pinched her dress and curtsied, sending a shiver up both Coach and D-Boy's spines. Being thanked and blessed for killing… there was something wrong in that.

"And now?"

"Idle curiosity, perhaps. But allow me to ask you: for what reasons did you consign these men to Emroy? I doubt they did something to offend you

"They had information we sought. That, and they butchered an innocent family for their food and bodies." He looked towards the last surviving bandit, digging hard stony soil barehanded with desperate abandon. "We were too late to save them, so we thought to seek justice."

"I see… and for what reasons do you seek information?"

Coach said nothing, instead looking to D-Boy. In turn, he pulled out a familiar photograph.

"We are searching for these two. The Empire attacked our home and took them, among others, as war prizes. We think they have been sold off, so we are tracking their path."

"What faithful little dogs you are!" Rory covered her mouth with a dainty hand as she giggled. "Oh, don't be insulted. Princes would pay well to have such loyalty. Sadly, I can offer no assistance, as these faces are unknown to me. But what an amazing painting that is! I've not seen something so bright and clear in all my life. Such a charming child, too!"

Her cheer faded slightly as she spoke in softer tones. "I detest slavery. A good death comes from a good life, but to die in chains is to live unfulfilled. I would demand that slaves rise up and cut down their masters, but that is not a simple task to ask of. At least, in death, they can find freedom and rest."

Rory paused and looked to the two. "Do you know what I speak of? What it means to live well?"

Neither men were sure how to respond at first. D-Boy, after a moment's thought, spoke up. "...Death is not a hunter unbeknownst to its prey. One is always aware that it lies in wait. Though life merely a journey to the grave, it must not be undertaken without hope. Only then will a traveler's story live on, treasured by who bid him farewell."

"You understand! Oh, you make me so happy!" She clasped her hands together and gave D-Boy a brilliant smile, her cheer almost palpable. "And presented in such eloquence! You are not the beasts the rumors speak of, but fine men that bring glory to Emroy."

Coach seemed to bristle at the last comment. "We do no service in his name."

"All who kill serve Emroy, dearie." Rory gave the masked man a cheshire smile. "You may not pray to Him, but your work is in His Name. You would do best to remember that."

She stepped forward, planting her feet firmly against the ground as her knees bent and she leaned forward. Her halberd, previously held as if it were a mere toy to her, suddenly seemed to have a heavy weight as she held it high and at ready.

"Of course, those who deal with death should be ready to meet Emroy as well." The Apostle's eyes gleamed, hard and hungry, and her smile turned vicious. Her weapon seemed to tremble, as if thirsting for blood. "Gentlemen, are you ready to die?"

Under their cloaks, the two had their hands inching closer to their weapons. Apostle she may be, but the would be a real fight if she called for it. Though, given the stories they had heard of her, distraction and escape would likely be the wiser choice. Neither of them wanted to see if those tales were exaggerations or terrifying truths. To their relief, however, Rory smiled and relaxed her stance. With a spinning flourish, she allowed her halberd to come to a rest on her shoulder.

"Run along now, my dears. I'll not keep you from your duties. Emroy has not called for your souls yet."

So they went, into the darkness and away from a true monster.

-o-

"Really? You're going to quote Persona to the living embodiment of death and war? You havin' a laugh?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Goddamn wazzock."

* * *

Notes:

Hello.

It took a while, but it's finally here. I can't promise the next one will be faster, but I'll try.


End file.
